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“Oh! It’s a boy! The young princess has been delivered of a bouncing baby boy!”
Laughter rang out, glee, merriment, joyful leaps filling the ward.
The young princess surveyed her surroundings weakly. A smile curved her lips as the Prince (the heir apparent), stepped into the room. His smile outshone the midday sun.
“My Queen…”
He beckoned softly, clasping her delicate fingers in reassurance. She nodded.
The newborn’s cries pierced the air: an unsettling comfort to some, a sweet music to others.
“Thank you…” The Crown Prince whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow. She rubbed her nose against his, and they lingered in tender affection, his fingers threading through the back of her hair.
“I love you, Theresa; Princess of Wales, future Queen of our great kingdom. Thank you for giving this fine land an heir.”
Theresa only smiled.
She had been brought into the palace chiefly to fulfill one purpose: to provide an heir. Yet her husband had showered her with kindness and devotion. At first, she had mistaken it for courtesy, but on the eve of their wedding, he professed his undying love: vowing to protect her, to be her knight, her hero, her friend. Their union was arranged, and each day she rehearsed her duties, striving to perform them with grace and perfection.
Now, she was afraid.
The baby lay in her arms, crying; crying hard, without rhythm. Worry etched itself into her brow.
Motherhood.
How would she care for him? How would she raise a leader, one worthy of respect, faith, virtue, compassion, and kindness? How would she protect him?
She was not alone. She glanced at James, who gazed at her with unrestrained admiration. Though she felt rigid and uncertain, to him she remained the most beautiful woman in the world.
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ORATOR:
A father is the pillar of a home; a mother, its bedrock. Motherhood is the quiet force the world depends upon to remain whole. The cruelest fate for a child is the loss of a mother.
It is brave to nurture another life within oneself. It is beautiful to bring a little man or woman into the world. After all, that is how we all arrived.
A mother is a nurse, a backbone, an umbrella. She is a shield, a heroine, a bond-maker, a sanctuary.
Motherhood is a complex phenomenon, ensconced in unpredictability. There is no map, no manual. It is an innate ability forged in the furnace of fear, vulnerability, desperation, and change. In motherhood, one leans wholly on instinct.
Motherhood births confusion, anxiety, and courage. The courage to stretch out wings that have always existed, only now awakened by love and desire.
Motherhood is a predestined reality of the girl child. She is born to give life, to blossom and bloom, to stand as a gate, an enigma of unique strength.
A mother’s pain knows no bounds. Her tears hold no deceit, and her love defies understanding.
Motherhood: The heart’s resolve to nurture and uplift. Like a shepherd, she leads. Like a warrior, she defends. Like a sage, she instills balance and moral truth.
How does one watch a child grow and yet feel invisible? After years of investment: financial, moral, ethical, spiritual, and emotional, how is a mother’s joyous agony eased?
Motherhood is a divine calling: to build a home, unite a family, and give meaning to its members. She is the guide, the compass, the strategist, the quiet forerunner to the captain of the family ship.
Motherhood is golden/beautiful, glorious, and luminous. It is not merely in bearing children, but in the lifelong acts that follow.
There is no concrete school for motherhood.
It lives within you.
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